Pridmore muttered something which the little boy did not hear. Matilda caught a few words. “Smacked,” “bed,” “bread and water”—familiar words all of them. “If it’s a game,” said Matilda to the boy, “I should like to play.” He frowned. “I advise you to come at once,” he said, so sternly that even Pridmore was a little frightened. “His Majesty’s Palace is in this direction.” He walked away, and Matilda made a sudden jump, dragged her hand out of Pridmore’s, and ran after him. So Pridmore had to follow, still grumbling. The Palace stood in a great green park dotted with white-flowered may-bushes. It was not at all like an English palace, St. James’s or Buckingham Palace, for instance, because it was very beautiful and very clean. When they got in they saw that the Palace was hung with green silk. The footmen had green and gold liveries, and all the courtiers’ clothes were the same colours. Matilda and Pridmore had to wait a few moments while the King changed his sceptre and put on a clean crown, and then they were shown into the Audience Chamber. The King came to meet them. “It is kind of you to have come so far,” he said. “Of _course_ you’ll stay at the Palace?” He looked anxiously at Matilda. “Are you _quite_ comfortable, my dear?” he asked doubtfully. Matilda was very truthful—for a girl. “No,” she said, “my frock cuts me round the arms——” “Ah,” said he, “and you brought no luggage—some of the Princess’s frocks—her old ones perhaps—yes—yes—this person—your maid, no doubt?” A loud laugh rang suddenly through the hall. The King looked uneasily round, as though he expected something to happen. But nothing seemed likely to occur. “Yes,” said Matilda, “Pridmore is—Oh, dear!” For before her eyes she saw an awful change taking place in Pridmore. In an instant all that was left of the original Pridmore were the boots and the hem of her skirt—the top part of her had changed into painted iron and glass, and even as Matilda looked the bit of skirt that was left got flat and hard and square. The two feet turned into four feet, and they were iron feet, and there was no more Pridmore. [Illustration: THE TOP PART OF PRIDMORE TURNED INTO PAINTED IRON AND GLASS.] “Oh, my poor child,” said the King, “your maid has turned into an Automatic Machine.” It was too true. The maid had turned into a machine such as those which you see in a railway station—greedy, grasping things which take your pennies and give you next to nothing in chocolate and no change. But there was no chocolate to be seen through the glass of the machine that once had been Pridmore. Only little rolls of paper. The King silently handed some pennies to Matilda. She dropped one into the machine and pulled out the little drawer. There was a scroll of paper. Matilda opened it and read— “Don’t be tiresome.” She tried again. This time it was— “If you don’t give over I’ll tell your Ma first thing when she comes home.” The next was—